THE LAST CALL

 

Vivianne Andre paused at the top of the stairs and glanced into the beautiful ornate gold leaf mirror. She hated what she saw: the ravages of old age, the crepey skin, the laughter lines and sagging jowls. She had, what her next-door neighbour had once thrown at her, ‘a resting bitch face’

She smiled briefly at the memory and miraculously her cheekbones appeared from nowhere. ‘My dear’ she muttered to herself, ‘You are old, old, old!’

In disgust, she turned heel and marched off down the corridor making a mental note to cover the mirror. There were only a few left uncovered in the house now, the main one being her dressing table after all she still had to apply her makeup and brush her hair. She would undress of to the side of the mirror so as not to catch sight of her aging body. A body, she reflected, that had once turned heads and caused men to profess their undying love.

Vivianne was born in Paris towards the end of the second world war, she never knew her father and her mother Marie would never tell her any details. She suspected her father was most likely an  American soldier. Whoever he was Vivianne guessed that her mother had loved him albeit briefly and most likely the liaison was frowned upon too, by her extremely strict and overprotective grandparents.

At the age of ten Vivianne and her mother relocated to London where Marie met an English gentleman who gave them a comfortable lifestyle and a happy home for many years, life was good.

 Vivianne had blossomed into a beautiful young woman and 60s London was so very exciting, full of life, free love and the trendiest of people. She was working in a café off Carnaby Street one Saturday afternoon in 1964, when her life changed forever. The café was vibrant and attracted so many people. Mini skirted, long legged, pretty girls and hip young men used it as a hang out and before long it became THE place to spot stars. A commotion in the café that afternoon caused Vivianne to look out from the back room where the food and drinks were prepared. Seated in the corner was Tom Jones surrounded by a bevy of those same mini skirted girls, he glanced up and caught Vivianne’s eye, winking directly at her he motioned for her to come over. She could feel herself colouring up as she clutched her order pad and made her way to his table. The girls reluctantly parted to allow her through and she took his order with shaking hands.

As if that wasn’t enough excitement for one day, once Tom had left, another man in his fifties approached Vivianne and pressed a business card into her hands. ‘I’m looking for a girl like you to be an extra in a film in a couple of weeks, you have exactly the right look, why don’t you swing by my office and we can talk about it?’ he said as he pulled on his overcoat and headed out of the door.

After much deliberation and encouragement from her mother, Vivianne found herself outside Blake Rochester’s office only a few streets from the café. She was effortlessly beautiful in her new mini dress and white knee length boots. Rochester gave her the small part on the spot, and it seemed she had a natural talent for acting which she enjoyed so much it made her heart sing. The next year passed in a blur her feet hardly touched the ground, suddenly she was being approached by directors in Hollywood and on a cold dark November morning, she found herself on the way to Los Angeles. She felt she was dreaming, but the bitter cold told her she was wide awake!

The journey was long and tiring but it was all so exciting and new. It was her first ever time on a plane and she looked down in wonder at the twinkling lights of LA on the approach to landing.

Once she had fetched her bags there was a driver to greet her and whisk her off to a Beverly Hills hotel, she barely slept a wink despite her exhaustion. She was so excited she had to pinch herself to make sure it was real.

Vivianne’s rise to fame was meteoric, everyone wanted a piece of her, she was on the cover of every glamour magazine, photographers followed her everywhere as did her adoring fans begging for autographs. She starred in six Hollywood blockbusters over the next few years having affairs with some of her leading men to boot. Her seventh film earned her the first of two Oscar awards in her career and as she walked down the red carpet with flash bulbs popping, she had never felt so wanted and happy.

As her career soared Vivianne bought a beautiful seven bedroomed mansion in Malibu with views of the ocean and staff at her beck and call 24/7. She would regularly fly her mother over to visit until she eventually didn’t want to travel any more as she was getting older and the journey was not so comfortable for her.

Ten years passed in a flash, she acquired art and cars and fancy sculptures with her generous pay packets. Ten years of partying, brief affairs and yet more filming until one day, just like that, the film offers started to dry up. Rumour was there was a prettier, younger star coming up through the ranks who was the latest ‘thing’

Vivianne’s agent rang her less and less frequently, she started to feel alone and far from home. LA was not her home, it was a superficial, fun place to be until your light was snuffed out by another.

A disastrous decision to star in a lower budget movie saw her fall from favour and the snarky reviews cut her to the core. She stood out on the vast deck of her mansion overlooking the sea that night and she had never felt so alone. The phone call to her mother was tearful and she made the decision to go back home to London.

When the flight home landed, a handful of reporters, photographers and fans were waiting at the barrier. It was nothing like the number of adoring fans in past years and Vivianne scurried past with her dark glasses on and head down.

The Malibu mansion sold for considerably less than Vivianne had hoped but still enough to buy a big house in London. She shipped over some of the smaller pieces of furniture and artwork, her piano which she loved and sold the rest. She was reasonably comfortable financially but was unable to afford the luxury of staff really so employed a lady to clean once a week for her, Vivianne had never done a days housework in her life.

Vivianne’s mother Marie died in 1985 leaving her a modest amount of money and her house which sold at a good profit. Being an only child Vivianne was once again struck by her loneliness and at the age of 40 she suddenly began to regret some of her life decisions. She had not had, and never would have, children now. Long term relationships had eluded her too and she realised she had spent her twenties like a butterfly, flitting from one co star to another. She had lived the lifestyle of a star, she loved champagne and fine wines which she stored in a special cellar in the house and fresh flowers in every room which she replaced every few days.  There were some luxuries like her bathroom suite, which had been specially designed for a tasteful semi-nude photoshoot, that still brought her so much joy. It had ornate plaster roses and intricate scrolls which had been covered in gold leaf and yes, she had it shipped in a crate from LA and carefully refitted in her London home. That had cost quite a large sum of money.

For a few more years she lived alone picking up the odd bit of work, tv commercials seemed to be easy money and people still recognised her, although selling toilet cleaner and coffee was a far cry from her Oscar winning days. Ever the professional, she turned up and gave it her all. A small part in a TV soap raised her profile briefly, she caught the attention of a producer and suddenly she found herself being wined and dined once more.

Michael Traynor was a fast mover and a smooth talker, romance blossomed quickly, taking away the loneliness at first but bringing a whole new set of problems.

Michael was flash and free and easy with his money, he sweet talked Vivianne, and she fell hook line and sinker. He was not however, a good man, he was in debt and had a liking for gambling, two things she did not find out until too late.

They married in a lavish rooftop ceremony in April 1990 just six months after their first meeting and within another six months Michael had completely cleared her bank account thanks to his gambling habit. Heartbroken, Vivianne divorced Michael and cut all ties with him withdrawing into her house and seldom going out. Her funds exhausted she was forced to sell most of her paintings and some pieces of jewellery, and a further reluctantly accepted TV commercial was enough to keep the wolf from the door.

She often reflected that had she not been afforded such beauty; how different her life might be. That was not a vain reflection, more of a wistful one. The house was so quiet, no one checked to see she was ok, she had even had to let the cleaner go. As the years ticked by the house, which had once been the grandest on the street, started to fall into disrepair. It was sad to see such a Victorian beauty with rotting windows and broken gates. Weeds poked through the cracks in the path and the windowpanes were thick with dirt. Birds nested in the chimney and ivy climbed unhindered, pulling at the brickwork. The neighbours started to complain, anonymous notes through her door told her the mood was not good, her house was starting to affect the value of their homes.

Vivianne would cry at night, desperate to keep her roof over her head, but her fortunes were about to take an even worse turn. Slowly she started to shut down the rooms of the house until she was mostly living in one room. In winter she put on jumpers and used blankets to keep herself warm in front of a one bar electric fire.

The one remaining luxury she afforded herself was a relaxing bath, even if she had to carry boiling saucepans of water up the stairs to fill it. During the summer months she would pick flowers from the now wild garden and place them in a vase, light a scented candle and pour a glass of the last remaining wine from the cellar. She would lie in the bath, listen to the radio and soak away her troubles, trying to escape from her situation. At every moment she wondered how her life had come to this, cursing her previously easy existence with everything on tap.

It was when she was in the bath one night that she heard the letterbox bang. Wrapping her silk dressing gown around her tightly, she went downstairs to the hall and saw a thick brown envelope on the doormat. Vivianne opened the letter with trembling hands. She had been in arrears with her bills for some time, shoving them into drawers without so much as a second glance and now the debt collectors were coming. That letter also went into the crammed drawer, it was so full, she had to force it shut.

The next day she spoke to her agent realising that they hadn’t spoken in over a year. He didn’t have anything for her. She tried so hard not to sound desperate, at that moment she would have taken any job at all, but the reality was no one remembered her, and she wouldn’t be first choice for commercials any more given her age.

All she could do was wait for the debt collectors. She was once again bathing when she heard a faint knock at the door. She reached out and turned down the radio, soapy bubbles dripped from her arm onto the wooden bathmat. Silently she drained the last of the wine from her glass. Someone was shouting through the letterbox. ‘Miss Andre, please open the door, I need to speak with you!’ Another knock, more persistent this time, was followed by the letterbox snapping shut. Vivianne took a deep breath and slid beneath the soapy water to block out the sound of her name being called outside her windows.

 

William Jackson pulled up outside Vivianne Andres house, it was the last call of the day and he hoped for better luck this time since his last attempt had been quite fruitless. He glanced at the house, even though it was in a poor state of repair he could see it had once been very grand indeed. As he stared, the front door opened, he leapt into action grabbing his briefcase from the passenger seat. As William bounded up the front steps, he almost collided with two men coming out of the front door carrying an ornate table.  

‘Woah!’ shouted one of the men at William. ‘So sorry’ he replied, stepping back a little to let them through.

A third man appeared in the doorway. He stopped and ran his sleeve over his forehead, he was sweating profusely. ‘You here for the piano?’ he enquired of William.

William nodded, a little sheepishly, because he wasn’t. However, he was not going to miss his opportunity to get in the house and speak to Miss Andre himself after not being able to get in last time!

‘It’s in the drawing room at the top of the first landing, but you are going to need help shifting it!’ chuckled the man as he was disappearing down the steps to the gate.

As William slipped through the door, he could appreciate the full magnitude of the house even though it had seen better days, everything was neat and tidy. There were black marks on the wallpaper where paintings had once hung and obvious spaces where items of furniture had been removed.  William climbed the stairs and entered the drawing room, there was the beautiful grand piano. He could just imagine it being played on nights when there were parties. He had never heard of Vivianne before he had been instructed to come here, indeed why would he, he was only in his twenties, but he had felt obliged to do a little research. She had been a big star in the 1960s but now she was much older, and the house had an air of sadness about it.

On the piano stood many black and white photos in good quality solid silver frames. Pictures of Vivianne and her co-stars from various films, pictures of Carnaby Street in its heyday, one of Vivianne’s mother which showed quite clearly that she had inherited her good looks from her. William looked around the room, paint was peeling in places and there were signs of damp. Why on earth had she not just sold the house and moved to a slightly less grand one?

There was a bang out in the street and then faint shouts as the men loaded yet another piece of furniture into a waiting van. William remembered why he was there and started to search other rooms, gently knocking on each door before opening it.

Eventually several rooms later he found her sitting in a chair by the window watching the men loading the furniture.  ‘Miss Andre?’ William enquired, moving towards her quietly so as not to startle her.

She turned slowly to look at him. ‘Tell me, ’She said in a tremulous voice ‘Have they taken everything?’ A tear trickled down her pale cheek, she caught it with the back of her hand.

‘Not everything’ said William emphasising the EVERY. ‘But perhaps I can help, let me introduce myself’ William reached out his hand to shake Vivianne’s, she declined with a shake of her head.

‘It’s too late! They have taken so much!’ she said gesturing outside to the street. Even in this moment of desperation William could see just how beautiful she once must have been.

 ‘I just need you to read through this paperwork and sign it Miss Andre, you are owed a lot of money, it will honestly fix all your problems!’ William opened his briefcase and pulled out several sheets of typed paper placing it on the small table in front of Vivianne. She sighed deeply and bowed her head slightly; things were way beyond fixing.

William patted his jacket pocket; his pen was missing. ‘Oh … my pen must be in my car! I don’t suppose you have one?’ he asked, as he continued to check all his pockets.

‘I did have, but it was in the writing desk they took about ten minutes ago’ she replied shrugging her shoulders.

William scoured his briefcase tutting; his pen wasn’t there either. ‘Two minutes, I’m just going to get a pen from the car, and I will sit down and explain everything to you, it will be a lot clearer I promise’ He flashed his best winning smile as she nodded at him, with no sign of hope in her despairing eyes.

He literally ran down the stairs and outside. He retrieved his pen from the footwell where it had fallen and locked his car. ‘Did you find someone to help you with that piano?’ enquired the sweaty man who was lifting the writing desk into the van.

‘Er no.’ replied William ‘I’m here for something completely different! Just needed a pen’ he said waving said pen in the air. ‘I just need Miss Andre to sign some paperwork and I don’t think there will be any need for you to take away any more of her things’

Sweaty man stared at him for a full thirty seconds, his mouth slightly open then he frowned and looked round at the other two men in the back of the van. ‘You’ll have a job!’ he said.

‘What do you mean?’ asked William confused.

‘She died about two weeks ago, found drowned in her bath. They dunno if she fell asleep or if it was deliberate’ sweaty man declared giving the desk a good shove into the van.

‘NO, no, you are mistaken, I’ve literally just been speaking to her!’ William declared shaking his head.

All three men accompanied William back upstairs to the room he had seen Vivianne in. The chair was there, empty, and the paperwork was on the table waiting to be signed. William felt the hair stand up on the back of his neck. He KNEW he hadn’t imagined the encounter with Vivianne.

It was definitely his most bizarre experience as an heir hunter. Just two weeks previously he had knocked on her door and tried desperately to get her to answer. She was the sole heir to her late father’s estate, he had been a young soldier in the American forces during the war and had met Marie in Paris, where obviously Vivianne had been conceived. After the war he had opened a food store in Texas which became a chain across America. He became very wealthy, never married and never had any children, he often thought of Marie but knew nothing of Vivianne’s existence. It had taken time for the heir hunter team to track her down but now it was too late.

 

When William knocked on her door that fateful evening, Vivianne was panic stricken. The thought of debt collectors at her door was more than she could bear, she of course had no idea it was good news. She had consumed more than one glass of wine in her bath that night and she downed the remaining liquid in her glass and slid under the soapy water where she couldn’t hear her name being shouted. She resurfaced only when her lungs were at burning point. It was like a wake-up call.

‘Sort your life out Vivianne!’ She told herself sharply. She knew exactly where to start, the drawer full of bills.  It was when she stood up to get out of the bath that she fell backwards and knocked herself unconscious, slipping back under the water and drowning. It was several days before anyone discovered her.

She didn’t know she was dead and wandered from room to room watching, but unable to stop, her possessions being removed one by one. The penny dropped when the removal men couldn’t see or hear her and then when William arrived, she was very confused because he could clearly see her.

When William went to the car, she tried to pick up the papers he had left on the table, her hand passed straight through them.

It was then that she realised she was fading out of this world into the next and whatever was beyond…

 

Sarah Russell Dark Wishes Designs 2021